


Broken Souls

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: This little 3 chapter ficlet is a birthday present for my wonderful friend, Tamakin, who requested crazy!Spike in the basement, H/C, with a more emotional than usual Buffy and some sweet Dawn/Spike friendship....





	1. Chapter 1

Buffy stood at the door of the dark underground room she had left a few hours earlier, hesitating – suddenly very unsure whether or not she wanted to open it and go back inside.

 

By doing so, she would not only be going into a rather creepy section of the new Sunnydale High’s basement – she would also be stepping into a dark, painful part of her past to which she had vowed never to return again.

 

The part containing Spike.

 

*Actually, that’s a pretty big part, Buffy…be a little more specific why don’tcha?*

 

The Slayer swallowed hard, staring down at her white knuckles locked around the doorknob, though apparently lacking the strength and courage to push it open. Her throat was dry, and swallowing painful, and to her dismay, she found suddenly that her vision was blurring slightly. She raised her free hand to swipe at the tears angrily, drawing her hand away from the knob and turning her back on the door in a swift, decisive motion.

 

*It’s not cowardice,* she told herself firmly. *It’s not like I’m scared of Spike anyway. It’s not like he can hurt me, really. Not anymore. Not – not like he is now…*

 

Her footsteps slowed to a reluctant halt, and she drew in a deep breath, her back still turned to the door.

 

“Admission gate’s this way.”

 

Buffy started, whirling around in surprise at the sound of the deep, painfully familiar voice that suddenly echoed in the hall behind her. She froze, unable to keep herself from staring. He looked so different…and yet, in some ways, he hadn’t changed at all.

 

His clothes were dirty and ragged, as was his strangely disheveled hair, now revealing more than an inch of dark roots that the old Spike she had known before would never have allowed to be seen. Familiar eyes of crystal blue stared back into hers with a sort of blank detachment that…well, that part *was* new.

 

“Forget your ticket?” Spike asked her matter-of-factly. “Gotta have it to get in.”

 

An uneasy, sick feeling began in the pit of Buffy’s stomach, as she was reminded of the most obvious difference between the vampire standing before her now, and the creature he had once been.

 

This Spike was quite insane.

 

“Gotta be quick, too…gotta be smart,” he continued, oblivious to her curious eyes as she watched him carefully. “Sometimes they don’t let you in…even if you’ve got it. Sometimes…your ticket’s not good enough, yeah? Not good enough…not nearly good enough…”

 

He was pacing the hall in front of her, his eyes averted now, his voice low and trembling slightly as he ran a shaking hand through his dirty blonde hair every few seconds in a nervous gesture that was so very un-Spike-like that it nearly brought tears to Buffy’s eyes…though why she should want him to have his old confidence-bordering-on-arrogance back again was a mystery to her, after what he had done.

 

*Because you got yours back, didn’t you? Even after what *you* did,* a small voice in her mind that had become very familiar over the past few months accused her, before demanding impatiently, *Say something, idiot!*

 

“Spike…” Buffy hardly recognized her own voice, hoarse and distant and choked with tears – though for which of them they were shed, she could not be sure.

 

The blond vampire stopped his pacing, looking up at her through wide, shocked eyes, and it occurred to Buffy to wonder how long it might have been since he had heard his own name…where he might have been all this time…what might have happened to him, to take his very sanity.

 

Slowly, cautiously, Buffy took a step toward him…and that seemed to be the motion that galvanized him into action.

 

Spike lurched backward in obvious alarm, shaking his head vigorously and holding his hands out in a warding off sort of gesture. “No, no, he’s not here…not him. Wasn’t me…he did it…not here now, though…”

 

“Spike,” Buffy tried again softly, still moving cautiously toward him…but his next words stopped her in her tracks, chilling her blood with sudden apprehension.

 

“Wasn’t me…*he* hurt the girl…”

 

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took another step forward, not so concerned this time with whether or not she frightened him.

 

“Hurt what girl, Spike?” she demanded, her voice taking on a hard edge, her heart sinking with dread of what his answer might be. “What girl did you hurt?”

 

“Didn’t, wouldn’t hurt her…wouldn’t ever…don’t know why…” Spike insisted incoherently, backing up rapidly until his back was to the door. “Don’t know why he did it, why he hurt her…”

 

“*Spike*!” Buffy cut him off sharply, moving quickly to close the distance between them now, her fears making her impatient with his frightened, confused ramblings. “Spike, *who* did you hurt?”

 

As she neared him, Spike flinched, dropping to a crouch, raising his hands to shield his head as he shook it rapidly, rocking slightly back and forth against the wall.

 

“Bad…wicked…evil boy…must be punished…can’t be allowed to hurt the girl…to treat her that way…oughta know better…”

 

“Spike!” Buffy snapped as she reached him, her residual fears fading in her urgency to find out what he had done. She grabbed his arms and yanked down the shield he had formed of them, crouching in front of him and leaning forward until there was only inches between them to demand, “What have you done? What girl did you hurt? *Look at me*! *Who did you hurt*?”

 

Strangely obedient for once, Spike raised his eyes to meet hers as she had commanded, and there was a startled look on his face, as if he was only seeing her for the first time. His head tilted slightly as he stared at her wonderingly for a long moment, before finally whispering a response.

 

“Her…it was her…”

 

Buffy recognized immediately that by “her”, what he really meant was “you”. She was the only one in the room with him, and his gaze was locked onto hers as he spoke – which meant that he could only be referring to one thing.

 

The one thing she wanted more than anything else to forget.

 

She released him suddenly, rising to her feet and taking a couple hurried steps backward, staring down at him in shock and dismay.

 

“Right…mustn’t touch, mustn’t, not hardly good enough…” Spike muttered, his head bowed, his arms folded across his chest defensively as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a few moments before suddenly looking her in the eyes again, his own eyes wild and intense.

 

“You should wash,” he informed her severely. “You’re contaminated. Mustn’t touch the unclean thing…lest you be defiled yourself…you’d better go and wash, wash his filth off you…”

 

Buffy’s mind was racing with a million thoughts at once, and it took her a few moments to register that he was talking about himself. But his actual words were so strange, and the depth of broken emotion in his voice, the shame and guilt she heard in his trembling tone…

 

None of it made any sense.

 

*Vampires don’t feel guilt...*

 

*But he loved you…surely he *had* to feel…*

 

*It was just obsession…he never really loved you…he’s a vampire, he’s not sorry for what he did…*

 

Buffy shook her head, trying to clear it of the mental argument she was having with herself, and focused once more with an effort on the trembling blond vampire, huddled on the floor against the far wall.

 

Despite all she had been taught to the contrary, she knew what it was she was seeing.

 

Spike was wrestling with guilt and regret for what had happened between them the year before.

 

*But…if he’s feeling guilt…*

 

She frowned. Despite her desire to simply turn and walk away as quickly as she could, she found herself moving toward him again, crouching down in front of him much more gently this time. Spike cringed back away from her, covering his face with his arms, shaking his head in disapproval of her nearness.

 

“Mustn’t touch,” he repeated in a broken whisper. “Filthy…unclean…mustn’t come near…”

 

“Spike,” she murmured, reaching out a hesitant hand toward him. “Spike…look at me.”

 

“No, no, too bright…too bright…belong in the dark, I do…not like you…never like you, no matter how hard…no matter…” His voice trailed off, and Buffy was suddenly aware of how very weary he sounded, exhausted by the struggle taking place in his own mind.

 

“Spike,” she repeated simply, waiting.

 

After a moment, the vampire’s arms came down, and he glanced sideways at her uncertainly, his arms still crossed and hovering about shoulder level, as if ready at the first sign of danger to erect his protective barrier again.

 

“What happened?” Buffy whispered, not quite sure she wanted to hear the answer. “How did you get…what happened to you?”

 

“Got what I asked for, didn’t I?” was his reply, his voice tinged with a hint of bitter anger. “Got what I had coming to me…what I deserved…all sparks sold as is, no exchanges, no returns…even if the one you get is damaged, can’t trade it in for another, no you can’t…”

 

Buffy let out a heavy sigh, as it became obvious that she not going to get any logical answers from him at this point. She began to relax a bit, despite the troubling situation, as it also became apparent that she was in no danger whatsoever from the confused, disoriented vampire. She looked him over a bit closer, frowning as she remembered the strange marks she had seen on his chest that day.

 

She reached out without hesitation to pull the side of his tattered, open shirt aside, jumping when he startled, jerking away from her and pulling the shirt closed, shaking his head emphatically and whimpering.

 

“No…no…mustn’t touch…”

 

“Okay…okay, I’m not touching,” Buffy assured him, keeping her voice gentle despite her irritation. “I’m not touching, Spike, okay? I just…I just wanted to see…I mean…Spike, what did you do to yourself?”

 

Spike stared up at her for a long moment, before breaking into a fit of manic giggles. “Done to myself…done to myself,” he echoed amidst his insane laughter. “Didn’t do it to myself…had it done to me…asked for it, all the same…”

 

“*Spike*,” she pressed, struggling not to display her impatience. When he looked at her, soberly almost instantly, she clarified, “The scratches. What happened? Why did you…? How did that happen?”

 

“Told you,” he replied immediately. “Tried to cut it out. Won’t bloody well come out, though. No exchanges, no refunds…”

 

Buffy frowned in confusion. “What won’t come out?”

 

Spike stared at the ground, sniffling and suddenly swiping at tears that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. “Bloody spark,” he muttered, so softly that Buffy could barely make out the words. “Asked for it…wanted to be good…asked for it…didn’t help, though…still dirty…still bad…must be punished…sure to be caned…”

 

He was rocking again, as his words increased in speed and pitch, and tears rolled down his face unchecked.

 

Buffy’s uneasiness intensified, as she tried to put together the pieces of the strange puzzle, but it seemed that there was a single piece missing, and that she already knew where and what it was, if only she could remember. The answer was hovering just in front of her, just out of sight, if only she could grasp onto it…

 

*Vampires don’t feel guilt…don’t know right and wrong…can’t feel guilt, can’t feel anything, without a…*

 

The Council party rhetoric that had been echoing through her mind ground to a sudden halt, as Buffy’s eyes went wide with sudden, stricken understanding. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think; the entire world around her seemed to have frozen in time, as her mind struggled to catch up, to process what seemed to be impossible.

 

“Your soul,” she whispered. “Spike…how…?”

 

“Had to, didn’t I?” he replied simply, staring up at her through haunted eyes, his voice rising to an almost panicked tone as he gave her his nearly incoherent explanation. “Only way to give you…what you wanted…what you deserved. ‘Cept, that’s the rub, in’nit? *Can’t* be that…can’t ever. Lot of bloody good the soddin’ spark does me if it’s *broken*!”

 

The anguish, the betrayal in his voice shook Buffy to the core, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by all of it. It was too much to take in all at once…maybe too much to take in at all.

 

Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted not to be there.

 

She rose to her feet, stumbling backward, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

Spike stared up at her bleakly, a sorrowful resignation in his vulnerable blue eyes. Perhaps fully coherent for the first time that night, he whispered pleadingly, his voice trembling with tears, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone with him, Buffy…”

 

But the shaken Slayer just shook her head, unable to meet his request. She had to make it all make sense to herself, before she could even begin to deal with what had happened.

 

This was the sort of thing that could shake a person’s entire foundation.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, swallowing back an involuntary sob as she backed toward the door. “I…I have to…”

 

And without another word, before he could say anything else to stop her, she turned and fled the basement, up the stairs and out the door into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy was so upset, so simply desperate to escape the scene, that her supernaturally enhanced senses did not pick up on the presence of a slight, shadowy figure hiding just down the underground hallway from where she and Spike had had their confusing and enlightening conversation.

 

Ordinarily, Buffy could easily sense if a demon or vampire was nearby, and usually could even tell if a normal person was sneaking about somewhere. Human or demon, there wasn’t much that got past the Slayer’s sharp perception.

 

Perhaps it was because Dawn was neither, that Buffy completely missed the huddled form in the corner a few yards away from her, as she rushed almost frantically down the hallway toward the exit.

 

As the echoing sounds of her footsteps died away, the tall slim girl rose slowly from her crouched position, her eyes focused grimly on the huddled form of the blond vampire on the floor, now hugging his knees to his chest and rocking slightly, his eyes hidden, his face buried in the cradle formed by his interlocked arms.

 

But Dawn knew that he knew she was there.

 

She had known that afternoon that there was something Buffy was not telling her, when her older sister had given a conspicuously vague answer to her question as to how she had known about the avenging spirits and the talisman. The weirdness had continued when Buffy had stayed around the house, all fidgety and nervous and looking at the clock every five seconds, long after she usually would have gone on patrol.

 

Finally, Dawn had gotten up and said she was going to bed. She was not the least bit surprised when, no less than ten minutes later, she heard the soft sound of the front door being carefully closed, and looked out her bedroom window to see Buffy hurrying down the sidewalk, her arms folded close over her chest as if to ward off the chilly autumn breeze – and without a weapon in sight.

 

Something was *way* weird.

 

She had grabbed her jacket and followed her sister at a distance, determined to know what it was that had Buffy acting so strangely. She had been confused and a little apprehensive when the Slayer’s path had led her to the dark, deserted high school, but Dawn reminded herself that she was really not in any danger, no matter how ominous the looming buildings looked in the dark.

 

How could she possibly be in danger, with the Slayer less than a good scream away?

 

What *had* surprised her, though, truth be told, was the fact that Buffy never caught on to the fact that she was being followed – not that Dawn had *wanted* to be caught, but she knew enough to know that her rather limited ability to maintain stealth and silence was not ordinarily enough to fool the Slayer.

 

More than one failed attempt at sneaking out of the house was proof enough of that.

 

She had crept along at a good distance behind her sister, through the deserted halls of the school, and down into the basement. When she saw Buffy stop outside a closed door at the end of a long hall, she froze, easing up against the wall and crouching down to wait and see what the Slayer would do. Dawn frowned at Buffy’s internal but obvious struggle over whether or not to open the door, and had to suppress her own disappointment when her older sister finally turned and walked away.

 

But the door opened anyway – and the vampire that stepped out into the hallway was the last person Dawn had ever expected to see in Sunnydale again.

 

She stayed there, hidden in the shadows, as Buffy talked to the barely coherent vampire in hushed, gentle tones, like one might use with a child. It made Dawn angry to hear it, and she found that she was not really paying attention to the conversation as her mind went back to the dark secret that Xander had revealed to her – the horror of the betrayal Spike had committed, against her sister, and against her friendship.

 

She crouched there, fuming, until Buffy finally began to back away, shaking her head, and finally fled the basement. Dawn vaguely wondered what Spike had said to cause her reaction; she hadn’t really been paying attention…and besides, he didn’t seem to be making much sense, anyway.

 

Something was obviously wrong with him.

 

Dawn didn’t really care.

 

She made no effort to disguise the sharp clatter of her footsteps on the stone floor as she slowly approached him, but Spike did not look up. She did not stop her advance until she was standing a few feet in front of him, glaring down at him with seething fury, her arms crossed imperiously over her rather minimal chest.

 

She waited just a few moments before losing her patience, though she really wasn’t sure what she was expecting in the first place, what she was even here for. She didn’t know why Buffy hadn’t staked him, after what he had done; but a part of her was glad that she hadn’t – and another part of her was furious that she was glad.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, her high, thin voice resounding almost painfully in the echoing underground chamber.

 

Spike did not respond, just kept rocking, refusing to look up at her – because she knew that he was aware that she was there, and was ignoring her *on purpose* -- and now and again mumbling something under his breath.

 

“Spike!” Dawn snapped impatiently, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Spike…what’s the matter with you? Why don’t you look at me? Look at me, you…you jerk!”

 

Dawn felt a short-lived feeling of relief and vindication when the vampire hesitantly raised his head from the shelter of his arms…but the instant his haunted, anguished eyes met hers, her relief vanished, swallowed up in a combination of stunned awe at the expression in those eyes, and an unwilling sympathy for the vampire that had been her best friend – her *only* friend – during the darkest days of her young life.

 

She didn’t *want* to feel sorry for Spike; she didn’t want to feel *anything* for Spike, after what he had done.

 

He had tried to…to…

 

She couldn’t even make her mind finish the thought.

 

Unthinking rage began to fill her again, her emotions veering wildly in one direction, and then another, as she tried to make sense of what she should feel, what she had once felt, and what she was feeling now.

 

It was not an easy task.

 

Spike was muttering again under his breath, his eyes lowered once more, though he did not hide his face again. He was rocking a bit faster now, repeating the same words over and over in a sort of chant, though too softly for Dawn to make out the words.

 

“What?” she snapped. “Speak up, I can’t hear you! What are you saying?”

 

Spike just kept muttering, shaking his head too, in denial or refusal, Dawn could not be sure.

 

Furious and frustrated, she kicked out at him, though she was well aware that her little girly non-Slayer foot wouldn’t really do him much damage. Still, she wished that it would; she *wanted* to hurt him, after what he had put Buffy through…what he had put *her* through.

 

She wanted to hurt him.

 

She wanted to hate him.

 

She found, to her dismay, that she could do neither.

 

Spike flinched at the blow, a quiet sob rising up in his throat as he lowered his head again, his words a bit louder, but muffled by his arms once more. Dawn found this more frustrating than ever, her anger rising up again as she crouched in front of him, yanking at his arms in an attempt to force him to look at her – and an unintentional echo of her sister’s action minutes earlier.

 

“No, *look at me*!” she snarled, her voice shaking dangerously. “*Look at me* and talk to me like I’m a person! I *know* what you did, Spike! I know what you did to her! How could you do that to us? How could you do that, and then just *leave*, like…like we never meant anything to…I hate you, Spike! I hate you! How could you do it?”

 

Spike cringed at those words, his shoulders shaking with sobs, but he slowly, reluctantly, raised his eyes to her face once more. His wide blue eyes were harrowed and lost as he studied her face, a strangely questioning note in his piercing gaze, as if he was trying to remember some long forgotten memory. As he stared at her through haunted eyes, he whispered his chant again, and this time she was close enough and still enough to hear the words.

 

“Can’t let him…can’t let him…hurt the girl…”

 

Dawn frowned, confused, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Can’t let who…?”

 

Spike stared at her for a long moment, still not completely seeming to recognize her, as the silence spread between them, engulfing even the quiet, ordinary night sounds until all there was was stillness, and his single word answer echoed in the air between them with a chilling note of finality.

 

“Me.”

 

Dawn’s eyes went wide, and she felt her heart jump within her, as she drew back slightly, instinctively, in alarm. “What?” she whispered.

 

“I’m the one what did it,” Spike explained, nodding emphatically, his arms crossed defensively over his stomach now, his shoulders hunched inward as if he was trying to disappear completely; but he had stopped rocking, going completely still, and the intensity of his deep blue gaze sent an apprehensive shiver down her spine. “Been doing it for years…”

 

Though she knew she shouldn’t ask, Dawn couldn’t stop the hoarse, whispered words from leaving her throat.

 

“Been doing…what?”

 

Spike was silent for a moment, his expression inscrutable as he replied in a tone so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it seemed tinged with madness.

 

“Hurting little girls.”

 

Dawn scrambled backward with a gasp, so that she was bent back on her hands and her heels for a moment, before the imbalance of that position sent her collapsing to the floor. Feeling terribly vulnerable there, she stumbled to her feet, taking several lurching steps backward, wide blue eyes locked onto Spike’s face with fearful apprehension.

 

“Made ‘em bleed…made ‘em cry,” Spike continued, not looking at her now – and that was better, though not much. “Wanted to hear ‘em cry. Couldn’t get enough of their screams…and now…”

 

Dawn shook her head in denial, not wanting to hear his words, not wanting to see his face as he looked up at her, his expression haunted and lost as he whispered his conclusion.

 

“…now…’s all I ever hear.”

 

Dawn couldn’t stand it any longer. His words, his voice, all contributed to the dark mood that seemed to linger in these basement halls. She had felt it earlier that afternoon, and now she felt it with dreadful certainty again.

 

There was something down here.

 

And she no longer wanted to be.

 

She backed warily down the hallway, away from Spike, watching him cautiously lest he should try to come after her. It was strange; even with what she had known about the terrible thing he had tried to do to her sister, she would never have thought that he might try to hurt *her*…but now, she was afraid of him. That strange light in his crystal blue eyes, his horribly explicit verbal trip down memory lane.

 

He was obviously crazy, but there was still only so much a girl could take!

 

And, alone-in-the-basement-with-a-crazy-vampire was just one very small step above alone-in-the-basement-with-an-evil-vampire on her list of situations she wanted to find herself in – and both items were down there at the bottom of the list.

 

Dawn swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice, her eyes narrowing as she summoned what was left of her bravery to declare in what she hoped was a steely, threatening voice, despite the tremors that filled it,

 

“You *stay away* from me and my sister. I never want to see you again.”

 

That said, she turned on her heel and fled the room, once again unintentionally following in the footsteps of her sister. Spike watched her go for a long moment, a troubled frown creasing his brow as he tried to grasp onto the familiar thought that seemed to be humming around the edges of his mind, never quite staying still for long enough for him to grasp onto it and make it make sense.

 

He stared at the spot where the girl had stood, wincing again at the memory of her harsh, condemning words, and the truth they had declared so starkly and painfully. It hurt worse, somehow, coming from her, than from the voices that constantly filled his head. It was as if what she thought, how she felt about him, somehow…mattered more, though he couldn’t really remember why.

 

He couldn’t really remember much of anything, before he got it – the spark.

 

He knew that his mind would clear again, and he would remember – but for now, he struggled to grasp onto just a shred of memory, just an inkling of what it was he was supposed to…

 

*I’m counting on you to protect her…*

 

*Any number of beasties between here and clear across town…*

 

*I can take care of myself…*

 

*’Til the end of the world…*

 

Spike’s eyes widened and he suddenly struggled to his feet, his throat dry with fear for the girl who had just left him. He couldn’t quite remember how or why, but he knew that he had to protect her – he had *promised* to protect her – and in Sunnydale at night, there were countless dangers she might find herself facing on her way back to – wherever she had come from.

 

“Gotta save her,” he muttered to himself as he staggered down the hall in the direction she had gone, fighting the pull, the invisible drawing force that seemed determined to keep him here, and whispered of his nightmare past in his mind, when no one else was looking. “Gotta protect her…”

 

“Made a promise…gotta keep my promise…to the lady…”


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn ran through Restfield Cemetery, swiping angrily at the tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes, blurring her vision and filling her deliberately hardened heart with confusion.

 

She had imagined a dozen times how she would react if Spike ever had the nerve to return to Sunnydale, after what he had tried to do to Buffy. She had silently vowed that their friendship was over; she would never be able to talk to him, even look at him the same way, knowing the trauma he had put her sister through. She had even planned a speech, warning Spike against ever trying to harm Buffy again, complete with chilling, age-inappropriate threats and all.

 

At least…she *hoped* it was chilling.

 

She’d never had the chance to actually test the speech out – until tonight. And somehow, none of the words felt right anymore, not when faced with Spike in the strange, troubling condition he was in, huddled in the basement, trembling and muttering and completely out of it.

 

But that didn’t make his betrayal, followed by his abandonment, hurt any less.

 

She cursed softly under her breath as she stumbled again, catching herself on a nearby tombstone before she could fall, frustrated with her own clumsiness that was making her retreat back to the safety of her bedroom take far longer than it should have.

 

A subtle but powerful shift of emotion took Dawn’s frustration and twisted it, wringing from it an unexpected torrent of tears. Deep, wrenching sobs overcame her, and without any warning, the girl found herself leaning on the grave marker with both hands, doubled over, her shoulders shaking as she cried out her hurt and confusion.

 

She was strangely unsurprised when strong, gentle hands took her arms and drew her back up straight, pulling her in close against a cool, muscular chest. Her shattered heart was screaming at her to pull away, to hit him, to prevent him from offering the same comfort he had offered her during those dark months after Buffy’s death – but at the same time, her heart craved it, her tears flowing more freely with mingled pain and relief as for a brief moment, she felt herself beginning to melt into his embrace…

 

With a violent shove against his chest she struggled to pull away, protesting in a voice that trembled with rage, “No! Take your hands off me, I don’t want you to…”

 

Her words trailed off, her eyes widening as she looked up at the face of the vampire holding her – to see that it was not Spike at all, but a stranger, leering at her through glittering, greedy golden eyes.

 

“Of course you don’t,” the vampire sneered, his hands hardening on her arms as she struggled, though her feeble human attempts required very little effort on his part to hold her. “That’s what makes it fun.”

 

Panic seized her, and Dawn fought for her life with all her strength for a few moments longer, before realizing that her efforts were useless against the creature’s demonic strength, and instead falling back on the best weapon at her disposal, a method that almost never failed to bring about results.

 

She screamed.

 

The vampire winced at the bloodcurdling sound, inches from his ear, and faltered enough to allow her to get one arm free – which she promptly used to punch him in the face, following up the blow with a hard stomp to the vampire’s instep.

 

Of course, the latter would have been more effective had the vampire not been wearing combat boots.

 

“Okay, getting annoying, little girl,” the vampire snarled, catching her free wrist and twisting her arm up behind her back, pushing her forward to trap her other arm between her body and the headstone. “Time to eat…”

 

Dawn felt rather than saw the vampire’s fangs descending toward her throat, his tepid breath dampening her skin and sending a shudder of revulsion through her as she drew in the breath for one last scream…

 

But she never got the chance to let it out.

 

Dawn collapsed forward across the headstone as the strong hands that had held her in place suddenly disintegrated, just so much dust blowing away in the night wind. Gasping for breath, Dawn whirled around, her back to the stone, her eyes wide, fully expecting to find herself face to face with her furious older sister.

 

But it wasn’t Buffy.

 

It was Spike.

 

Dawn just stared at him for a long moment in silence, struggling to come to terms with the tumult of anger and resentment and gratitude and relief whirling around in her mind and heart. Spike just looked at her, his blue gaze somehow bright and dull at the same time. It was no consolation to Dawn that the blond vampire seemed more confused than she was.

 

“Couldn’t let him hurt the girl,” Spike muttered, breaking eye contact and looking away, suddenly awkward and uncomfortable with her acute attention.

 

Dawn was quiet for a moment, taking in the fact that Spike was apparently back in the grips of whatever insanity seemed to have overtaken him in the school basement. Finally she spoke, her young voice trembling but hard as she informed him, “Just because you saved me, don’t think that changes anything. I still hate you.”

 

Spike nodded once, resigned, without looking up at her. His softly spoken answer almost escaped Dawn’s hearing with the wind whipping about the two of them, but she just barely caught the single word…and her heart skipped a beat when she heard it.

 

“Should.”

 

A part of Dawn’s heart broke at the sorrow, the desolation, in Spike’s voice, and she found herself, in spite of her anger with him, wanting to reach out to him, to reassure him by contradicting his self-condemnation.

 

“D-deserve it,” Spike added, his voice barely over a whisper. “Hurt the girl…”

 

“Hmm…sounds like a plan.”

 

Dawn and Spike both looked up sharply at the stranger’s voice, to find themselves surrounded by several large vampires. The wind and the dark and the intensity of the moment had kept either of them from noticing until it was far too late to get away. Now, they were closed in on all sides by at least seven vamps…and Spike did not appear to be in much of a condition to fight them all.

 

“Oh, sorry…didn’t mean to interrupt,” the vampire who had spoken smirked at Spike. “I mean…if you were going to…but…but something tells me, no.”

 

Spike did not respond, though Dawn noticed with some relief that he took a couple of sideways steps to place himself between her and the large vampire.

 

“Rumor has it…something’s wrong with you, Spike,” the vampire went on, his false smile fading, his yellow eyes narrowing in menace. “Not quite yourself since you’ve been back…not that ‘yourself’ was ever anything but pathetic, anyway…Slayer’s little lapdog!”

 

For some reason…most likely an insane one, Dawn figured…Spike found that choice of words hilarious, releasing a high, manic giggle, shaking his head as he echoed, “Slayer’s lapdog…got a new one, she did, didn’t she, since way back then? Slayer’s lapdog…”

 

Behind him, Dawn let out a yelp as one of the other vampires lunged at her, and Spike’s laughter vanished in an instant as he spun around to stake the vamp that had grabbed her in a quick, fluid motion, before the creature had even a moment to react or defend itself. He pushed Dawn backward, out of the circle of vampires, and she stumbled before falling to the ground on her side with a muffled cry.

 

When she looked up at him in surprise, Spike met her eyes for just an instant, just long enough to whisper a single word of instruction, before turning to face the remaining vampires behind them.

 

“*Run*.”

 

Dawn hesitated just a moment before rising to her feet, backing a couple of wary steps away from where Spike stood, the only thing between her and nearly a dozen hungry vampires who wanted to make her their next meal.

 

“Hey…food’s getting away,” one of them pointed out to his buddies in a warning tone, and the answering snarls of the vampires as they started toward her chilled Dawn’s blood.

 

Her trembling legs carried her more quickly backward, stumbling slightly with a whimper of fear, as one of the vamps broke pace with the others and started toward her. Almost effortlessly Spike blocked his advance, a quick motion of his strong hands twisting the vampire’s head completely off and scattering his dust in the air.

 

The largest of the vampires, the one that seemed to be the leader, growled in frustration. “What’s the matter with you, man?” he demanded, shaking his head in disgust. “You used to have quite a rep. Everybody knew not to mess with William the Bloody…and now here you are, protecting a human…and a choice little piece at that, too. I’ve heard the stories; the things *you* used to do to tempting little morsels like her…so what’s with the do-gooder act? It’s not like the Slayer’s even around to see it!”

 

His words seemed to strike a nerve with Spike, and Dawn watched with dismay as the blond vampire shuddered, shaking his head in denial as he was reminded of his own history. His shoulders began to shake, and he seemed to visibly fold in on himself as the other vampire went on.

 

“No,” he muttered under his breath, still shaking his head. “No…wouldn’t…not anymore. Don’t do that anymore…good now…”

 

The other vampire laughed, sensing weakness and stalking forward even as Spike retreated, his head bowed, his eyes averted uncomfortably.

 

“Yeah,” the vamp sneered. “Sure you don’t…’cause you can’t. Can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, isn’t that it? If you could you’d tear into that sweet flesh yourself, wouldn’t you?”

 

“No!” Spike’s voice was anguished now, pleading. “No…wouldn’t ever…promised to…wouldn’t hurt her…”

 

One of the vampire’s friends took advantage of Spike’s distraction to slip toward Dawn, who stood transfixed by her former friend’s strange behavior, the all-important notion of escape momentarily forgotten. She noticed just as the vampire reached her…an instant too late…and screamed as a strong arm clamped around her shoulders from behind, and another gripped her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat.

 

In an instant Spike was there, tearing the vampire off her and lighting into it, his own confusion and pain forgotten as he set about the task of fulfilling a promise made years ago, yet never abandoned by him. Fists and fangs flew in the darkness, as he made short work of her would-be attacker, before turning on her to command harshly,

 

“*Go*!”

 

There was time to say nothing else before the remaining vampires were upon him, apparently having tired of allowing him to simply pick off one by one those who were too impatient to wait. All at once they attacked him, raining blows and kicks and bites upon him, and Dawn watched in horror as Spike all but disappeared under a pile of writhing, kicking, hissing vampires.

 

Once or twice one of them attempted to break from the scuffle and head in her direction, but somehow despite the odds against him, Spike managed to draw their attention back to him, still doing his best in spite of his own desperate situation to protect *her*. A weakened blow, a desperate gripping hand yanking one of them back in toward him…any small gesture he could manage, just to divert them away from her, regardless of his own safety.

 

It was clear that he would not last long at this rate.

 

Dawn stood there staring in horror, unable to move, to do anything to stop what was happening to Spike, until it occurred to her that at any moment, one of the vampires might come at her again. Spike’s strength was swiftly fading, as he began to succumb to the vicious attack of his numerous opponents; in fact, Dawn was surprised that none of them had tried to come after her again yet.

 

They all seemed completely focused on the savage punishment they were unleashing on Spike…the one they viewed as a traitor to their kind.

 

Some part of Dawn’s mind that was not shell-shocked with fear and confusion and horror shouted at her to *run*, while she still could, while they were all distracted. There was nothing she could do for Spike or herself as long as she was out here alone. The idea of leaving him alone to his fate was a terrible one, her previous anger and resentment forgotten under the impact of what was happening…but Dawn knew that there was only one person who could really help Spike now.

 

And she was not that person.

 

With a final anxious glance over her shoulder at her fallen friend, no longer even visibly struggling against the unceasing attack he was enduring, Dawn took off at a run across the damp grass of the cemetery.


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy leaned over the bathroom sink, splashing her face with cool water before grabbing a small towel and drying off carelessly. She braced her hand on the counter, gasping for breath that she had not yet regained, despite the fact that she had been back in the safety of her house for more than ten minutes now.

 

She had spent the first five wandering aimlessly through the empty rooms, staring blankly into space as her mind struggled to process the powerful, startling, and infinitely confusing revelation Spike had just made. It felt like a strange, impossible dream…but it was terribly real. She had finally climbed the stairs to the bathroom, hoping to somehow shake herself out of the daze in which she was lost.

 

She looked up, staring bleakly at her pale, disheveled reflection in the mirror.

 

Her mind flashed unwillingly back to another night, months earlier, when she had felt every bit as lost and confused as she did right now.

 

*You felt it…you’ll feel it again…I’ll *make* you feel it!*

 

Buffy suppressed a shudder, pushing the troubling memories out of her mind.

 

She was suddenly startled by the sound of the front door swinging open downstairs, and for a moment her mind went into panic mode, as for a brief moment she was absolutely sure that it was Spike; he had followed her back to her house, and was headed up the stairs, and the entire nightmare scene was about to play itself out again.

 

“Buffy? Buffy!”

 

Dawn’s frantic, tearful voice snapped the Slayer out of her reverie in an instant, as she rushed down the stairs to where her littler sister stood in the foyer, her hair windblown and cluttered with dried leaves and bits of grass, her face streaked with terrified tears.

 

“Dawn, what happened? What’s the matter?” Buffy paused, frowning suspiciously as she added with a raised brow, “And where were you?” As she spoke, she took her little sister’s arms in her hands, steadying her slight, trembling shoulders.

 

“I followed you to the school, and I saw Spike and I yelled at him and kicked him and told him I hated him, and he…he followed me, and…” Dawn broke down, her head bowed as a strangled sob escaped her throat.

 

Buffy’s eyes went wide with alarm, remembering how strangely Spike had been behaving in the school basement. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

 

Dawn looked up at her in startled disbelief at the question, before a hysterical laugh left her lips, and she shook her head. “No,” she replied in an anguished voice. “No, he…he *saved* me! There was…there were vampires…like, at least a dozen of them…he stopped them, Buffy! He saved me, and…and they hurt him, really bad...you have to help him, Buffy, we have to go back…”

 

“No, *you’re* not going anywhere!” Buffy declared, shaking her head emphatically, though her eyes were full of fear as the story came together in her mind. “Where did you leave him?”

 

“In the middle of R-restfield Cemetery. Not far from his crypt.”

 

“You took a shortcut through the cemetery in the middle of the night *alone*?” Buffy demanded, incredulous. “Those monks didn’t implant the memories of when you developed common sense, did they? Knew they had to have left something out.”

 

Dawn ignored the jibe, tears streaming from her eyes again as she gazed up at her sister pleadingly. “Just help him, Buffy…hurry, please! He was h-helping me…if they kill him because he was helping me…and…and after what I said…”

 

Dawn broke down again, her hands rising to cover her face as Buffy released her arms and grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door, shrugging into it as she opened the door and hurried outside.

 

**************************************

 

“Oh, my God.”

 

Buffy stumbled to a stop a few yards from the crumpled pile of black cloth on the ground in front of her. It took her a moment to realize that Spike was still inside it; his hair was dark and matted with blood and dirt, and with the ends grown out and darker than she remembered, it was harder to spot his bloodied, bruised face against the ground.

 

Buffy allowed herself only a moment’s stunned inaction before she stumbled forward, dropping to her knees beside him and reaching out a gentle hand to carefully lift his head.

 

The damage was worse than she had imagined.

 

Every visible part of him was covered in blood and bruises, and one of his legs was bent beneath him at an awkward angle. The pale, once-perfect skin at his throat was marred with jagged, overlapping bite marks, too many to count; and it was clear that his attackers had taken no thought for his comfort as they had savaged him, drawing his blood until there was barely any left, if his unusually pale appearance was any indication.

 

*Can a vampire be drained to death? No, no, please, Spike…*

 

“Spike?” she whispered. “God, Spike, can you hear me?”

 

Tears of relief sprang to her eyes when the vampire let out a weak moan, turning his head away, his body clenching in a spasm of pain. “Please,” he gasped out, his back arching with agony, his voice piteous and trembling. “Don’t…”

 

“Shhh,” Buffy soothed him, her own face streaked with tears that cooled quickly in the cold night air, leaving icy tracks on her cheeks. “It’s okay, Spike…it’s all right, I’m here…I’m gonna take you home…”

 

“Buffy?” He turned his head painfully back toward her, eyes nearly swollen shut struggling to focus on her. In spite of his injuries that made any sort of recognizable expression nearly impossible, the wonder in his crystal blue eyes was apparent. “You…you came…?”

 

Fresh tears spilled from Buffy’s eyes at the awe and disbelief in his hoarse whisper. She nodded, swallowing back a sob as she replied in a trembling voice, “Of course I came. I couldn’t just…Spike, of course I came…”

 

For a moment, Spike’s eyes lit up with a tumult of mingled relief and joy and gratitude; but just as quickly those emotions gave way to sorrow and shame, his eyes lowering as he whispered brokenly, “I…I have to…I need to…tell you…”

 

“Don’t,” Buffy shushed him with a gentle press of her fingertips against his lips, a brave smile on her lips through her tears. “Don’t try to talk right now, Spike. Just be still. I’m gonna try not to hurt you, okay? But…” She grimaced as she admitted apologetically, “…it’s probably gonna hurt a little…”

 

“’S all right, love,” Spike murmured, a little sleepily, turning his head away again and steeling his jaw for the expected agony of movement. “Used to the pain by now…”

 

Those words made Buffy flinch, as she was reminded of a thousand dark memories shared between them, as well as of the strange mental condition in which she had found Spike earlier that night. Much to her relief, he was surprisingly lucid at the moment.

 

With a sympathetic grimace, she wondered if he might be better off if he was a bit out of his head at the moment.

 

Cautiously, she slipped her arms underneath him, trying her best not to hurt him, but he bit back a sharp cry of pain anyway. Aware that it was not really something she could prevent, Buffy stood carefully, lifting the broken vampire in her arms, shifting his weight slightly until she knew that she could carry him the rest of the way home.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered soothingly, cradling his head against her throat, her chin resting lightly at his temple for just a moment before she moved it, afraid of hurting him worse. “It’s all right; I’ve got you.” She hesitated for an instant before giving in to her next impulse and brushing a feather light kiss across his matted curls. “Time to go home.”

 

***************************************

 

“Get the door,” Buffy commanded Dawn as she shoved it open with her shoulder, moving swiftly toward the couch.

 

She had Slayer strength on her side, so carrying Spike from Restfield back to the house was not exactly difficult for her. Still, she was alarmed at the slight weight of his body, how thin and frail he felt in her arms – nothing like the finely formed, toned frame she had become intimately familiar with over the past year.

 

“He’s alive,” Dawn stated, almost as if to convince herself, her voice trembling with relief. “He’s not dust. They didn’t kill him.”

 

“Not quite,” Buffy muttered grimly as she laid the unconscious vampire down on the sofa, heedless of the blood and grime that covered him. “But nearly.”

 

She winced as Spike let out a soft moan, even in his sleep, as his abused body came into contact with the soft sofa.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered yet again, unconsciously reaching up to stroke his filthy curls back from his face. “It’s all right. It’s gonna be fine, Spike, everything’s gonna be fine…” She hesitated, waiting for Dawn to hurry off toward the bathroom, most likely in search of a first aid kit, before she lowered her voice and added in a whisper, “I’m sorry, Spike. I shouldn’t have just left you there. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

The vampire was completely unresponsive, apparently not aware of anything she had said.

 

Buffy blinked back tears as Dawn brought her the first aid kit and set it down on the coffee table, hovering anxiously nearby, wanting to do what she could to help her one-time best friend, but unsure whether or not there was even anything she *could* do. Buffy’s next words provided the answer to that question.

 

“Dawnie, honey,” the Slayer said in a voice that was unusually soft and affectionate, her eyes focused on Spike, her expression carefully blank as she reached for his shirt and began to carefully unbutton the dirty, blood-soaked garment. “I need you to go upstairs. I don’t think you should…should see this.”

 

Dawn swallowed hard, her eyes widening as she realized that in order to reach all his injuries, Buffy was going to have to undress Spike completely. Without a word she turned and headed up the stairs to her own room.

 

Buffy slid the shirt back off Spike’s shoulders as far as it would go, frowning when she realized that she would have to cut the garment off in order to get it off without hurting him. Her eyes welled with tears as she took the tiny pair of scissors from the first aid kit and brought it toward the tattered black shirt Spike wore.

 

His confused, disoriented words back in the school basement echoed in her mind, and she swallowed back a sob as she realized just how far the vampire had gone in order to prove his love for her – and how far he was still willing to go to protect her, and Dawn.

 

“It’s all right, Spike,” she whispered, though the reassuring words were more for her own benefit than for his. “It’s all right…you’re home now.”

 

******************************************

 

Buffy was almost finished cleaning and bandaging the worst of Spike’s injuries when he awakened again, once again murmuring incoherent ramblings like those he had spoken in the basement.

 

“Can’t…can’t let me do it…can’t let me hurt her…had to do it, don’t you understand?”

 

Buffy drew back slightly, a concerned frown on her face as she watched his gradual return to consciousness, if not lucidity. Spike cringed back against the sofa, raising one arm weakly to cover his face as he cried out softly.

 

“No, stop it! I’m not listening, not listening to you! You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re dead and gone you are! Not listening to you!”

 

“Spike,” she gently interrupted his rambling, reaching out a careful hand to touch his upraised, trembling arm. “Spike…look at me…”

 

“No, no, don’t touch…don’t touch, unclean…make you dirty, make you wrong, and you can’t be…you can’t be…” Spike’s voice broke on the last phrase, a choked sob wrung from his throat as he shook his head, withdrawing from her touch. “All my fault…all my fault…”

 

The raw emotion in his words, jumbled and confused but still making a terrible, painful sort of sense, tore at Buffy’s heart. Tears streaked her face, blinding her as she insistently reached out to the vampire, moving as if to pull his arm down from his face as she leaned in closer.

 

“Spike…Spike, no…it’s not,” she argued softly. “It’s not…all your fault…”

 

He pulled away from her almost frantically, even as he drew in a sharp, pained breath at the sudden motion, shaking his head emphatically, his voice low and trembling with anguish. “You’re lying, you’re always lying to me! Telling me the things that are right are wrong and the things that are wrong are right and that I can be yours and I can *never* be yours, never again, not after what I’ve done…never be my girl and I’ll never be yours, never, never, don’t deserve it…”

 

“*Spike*!” Buffy reached out and caught his arms firmly, forcing him to face her.

 

Spike froze under her touch, staring at her hands on his arms in turn, before raising wide, startled eyes to hers, a sort of bewildered wonder in his tearful gaze. “You…you touched me,” he whispered in disbelief. “You touched me. Real….you’re…you’re not…like the others…it’s you, it’s really you…B-buffy…”

 

Relieved at what appeared to be near-sanity, Buffy gave him an encouraging smile. “Yes, Spike. It’s me.”

 

The vampire stared at her, his elated smile fading slowly into a stricken, sorrowful expression. “Buffy,” he sobbed softly, his hands clutching weakly at her arms as he lowered his head in shame. “So sorry, love…so sorry, Buffy…”

 

Buffy’s swallowed back a sob, pulling him in closer to her, but stopping when he winced with pain, easing him back down onto the sofa and moving from her perch on the edge of it to kneel beside him, never ceasing the gentle contact that seemed to be somehow grounding him with her..

 

“Spike,” she murmured, her throat aching as she struggled to get the words out. “It’s okay, Spike…I know…it’s okay, it…it wasn’t just you, okay? It wasn’t just your fault…”

 

“No,” Spike protested, despairing, unable to bring himself to meet her gaze. “Never okay…never okay again…I’m so sorry, Buffy…wanted to make it right…’s why I did it…got the spark…but…but all it did was make it worse…”

 

Buffy could not remember the last time she had been at such a loss. She had no idea what to say, if there even was anything she could say to help him. Angel had always been pretty vague about what exactly he had gone through when his soul had been restored, but she had understood that it was terribly disorienting and confusing and painful, centuries’ worth of guilt flooding in and overwhelming him in an instant’s time.

 

*And now…now Spike’s going through that…*

 

“It’s okay, Spike,” Buffy assured him, freeing one of her arms from his desperate, clutching fingers to run soothingly through his hair. “It’s all right, I promise…it doesn’t matter anymore. Not…not after…”

 

Spike looked up at her incredulously, shaking his head slowly in denial. “Doesn’t matter?” he echoed in a disbelieving whisper. “Of course it bloody well matters! It will *always* matter, Buffy! Don’t you get it? I’ll never get away from it…never! It’ll always be there, because I *hurt you*, Buffy! I hurt you! And you’ll never be able to forgive me for that, Buffy, never!”

 

“Spike, that’s…that’s not true,” Buffy argued weakly, though she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, as she wondered if he could be right.

 

“Isn’t it?” Spike asked in a whisper that was bleak and desolate, and yet tinged with a note of pleading hope, as he looked up to meet her eyes, his own wide and searching. “Could you, ever? Can you look at me…and tell me that you forgive me, Buffy?”

 

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, but found that she choked on the words she wanted to be able to say.

 

Her heart broke within her as Spike’s face fell, and he swallowed hard, his jaw setting with broken resignation as he looked away. “Knew you couldn’t, love,” he whispered. “Too much…too bad…I hurt you, Buffy. And…no matter how much I want to…I can’t ever take that back.”


	5. Chapter 5

For a long moment they both just stayed there in silence, Spike not daring to hope that she might refute his statement – and Buffy not daring to do so. She could not quite find the words to absolve him of his guilt for his actions months earlier, and yet her heart broke with Spike’s despairing words, the desolate sound of his voice as he accepted his rejection at her hands – and the fact that he deserved it.

 

But – did he?

 

*You did every bit as much damage, in your own way,* she reminded herself, as she wordlessly reached down to brush a disheveled lock of blond hair back into its proper array, in a pitifully weak gesture of comfort. *He might have tried, but you took and took and took again, until there was nothing left to take…and then you threw him away. So in the long run…which is worse?*

 

*Is there even any reason to compare? Would it accomplish anything? Would it help?*

 

She was fairly certain that it wouldn’t.

 

She was afraid that maybe nothing would.

 

She quietly shushed him in a mildly stern tone of voice as she continued tending to his injuries, trying to put his troubling words out of her mind; but as hard as she tried to forget about it, she still found that she could not bring herself to meet those haunted blue eyes again as she worked gently over the numerous severe injuries that covered his battered body.

 

It wasn’t long before she had every last wound treated and bandaged. His clothes were far too filthy to be put back on him again; Buffy laid them aside in a pile to be laundered – or perhaps burned – later, and covered the trembling, tearful vampire with a couple of soft, clean blankets.

 

And for Spike to be trembling and tearful – it was almost unfathomable.

 

Once he was covered, Buffy sat down cautiously on the edge of the sofa again, running her fingers through his hair in a gesture that was tender, in spite of herself. When they were sleeping together, she had rarely allowed him the privilege of touching her in such a soft, affectionate manner; and now, it seemed that she couldn’t stop fingering the loose, disheveled curls, a quiet evidence of the tremendous changes that had taken place in her vampire since he had left.

 

And just when along the way had she started to think of him as “her vampire”?

 

Spike flinched away from her hand, though she got the impression it was more out of shame than fear. His lips twisted into a grimace as he turned his head away, shaking it in refusal. His next words confirmed her suspicions.

 

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t…don’t hardly deserve…”

 

Feeling frustration rising up within her, Buffy declared in a voice that shook with mingled anger and pain, “Spike, what you didn’t deserve was…”

 

“Is it safe to come downstairs yet? Is he decent again?” Dawn’s nervous voice called from the top of the stairs.

 

Buffy released the breath she was holding with a heavy sigh of defeat. She was fairly certain she wasn’t going to be getting through to him anytime soon, anyway.

 

“Yeah,” she called softly. “It’s safe.”

 

A moment later Dawn’s quiet footsteps were heard on the stairs, and the girl hesitantly stepped into the living room, nervously watching the vampire lying on the couch as she cautiously approached. Spike glanced up at her for just an instant before looking away again, swallowing back a sob as his eyes closed and he shook his head pleadingly.

 

“No,” he whispered. “Please…don’t look….don’t…don’t look…”

 

Dawn’s eyes went wide, as she was struck once more with the disturbing fact that Spike was not at all himself at the moment. “Buffy,” she whispered, her gaze locked onto Spike, despite his pleading words. “Buffy, what’s wrong with him?”

 

“He…he’s been through a lot, Dawnie,” Buffy hedged, not sure yet how much she should tell her little sister about the vampire’s condition. “He’ll be fine, he just needs…needs some rest.”

 

Dawn raised a single eyebrow as she took in the unusually pale, trembling, frail form of the once powerful vampire. “He looks like he needs a lot more than that. He doesn’t look like he’s been feeding at all, Buffy. And…and those bites…” Both girls found their eyes unwillingly drawn to the numerous puncture wounds that covered the white skin of his throat. “…they nearly drained him, Buffy.”

 

The Slayer’s eyes went wide with realization, and she drew in a sharp breath of alarm. “Oh, no. Blood.”

 

Spike winced at the word, shaking his head in denial as he whimpered, “Sorry…so sorry…” Much to Buffy’s dismay, he seemed to be slipping back into the private world that was causing him so much torment, and in his confusion, misinterpreted her words.

 

Dawn nodded in grim agreement, swallowing hard as she tried to ignore his troubling words. “He’s lost a lot of it. He…he’s probably not going to get any better without it.”

 

“Right.” Buffy drew in a deep, shaky breath, letting it out slowly as she raised a hand to her lowered head. “Okay…um…it’s too late to go anywhere tonight. Anyplace I could get blood would be closed by now.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, shaking her head. “Even Willie’s, by now. It’s four-thirty.” She sighed, looking back toward Spike with regret in her eyes. “He’s gonna have to wait until morning. I hate for him to have to suffer anymore, but…but we haven’t really got much of a choice.”

 

Dawn was quiet for a moment longer, as she edged closer until she stood at her sister’s side, staring down at Spike through solemn blue eyes. “Maybe he’s supposed to suffer,” she suggested after a moment, though her soft, uncertain voice left much doubt as to whether or not she really believed her words. “After…what he did. Maybe he deserves it.”

 

Spike flinched, and Dawn winced, surprised that he was still lucid enough to have heard her words. The blond vampire turned his head slowly toward her, opening anguished eyes to lock onto hers, and Dawn gasped, taking an apprehensive step backward, startled by the intensity in his gaze.

 

“You’re right,” he whispered, tears sparkling in his sorrowful blue eyes. “Do deserve it. Deserve to die. Deserve…worse. I’m a bad man, Nibblet. I’m a bad, wicked man, and I deserve to be punished…”

 

Dawn shook her head desperately, her own face streaked with tears, as she backed further away in a subconscious attempt to escape the pain in his voice, his eyes.

 

“Spike,” Buffy reached out a gentle hand to touch his face, leading his gaze away from her frightened little sister and back toward her. She cleared her throat, finding it difficult to speak through the tears that nearly choked her. “Spike…stop it. You don’t…”

 

“I hurt you, Buffy!” he objected, his voice trembling with sorrow and regret as his eyes met hers. “I hurt you! I hurt you, and now I must pay for what I’ve done!”

 

“You saved Dawn, Spike,” Buffy reminded him, struggling to keep her voice steady as her tears fell unheeded down her face. “You risked your life and nearly died to protect her from those vampires. That is nothing that deserves to be punished.”

 

“Well, had to, didn’t I, love?” Spike countered. “Promised, didn’t I? Gotta protect her…no matter what. ‘Cause I told you I would.” He turned his head away again, trying to evade her gentle touch, a mercy he felt he did not deserve. “Always will, Buffy. Always…but that doesn’t change the…the other things I’ve done…the things I’ve done…to you…”

 

Silence filled the room for a long moment, each of them drowning in their own pain, their own swirling tumult of confused emotions, while Buffy wrestled with the words that wanted to spill from her lips…and lost.

 

“What about the things I’ve done to you?” she asked in a stark, aching whisper, her voice hoarse with fresh tears.

 

Spike looked up at her again, momentary confusion in his eyes. “Buffy…you didn’t…”

 

“But I did, Spike.” Buffy cut him off with a sad nod. “I did. I hurt you…so many times.” She hesitated, considering her words for a moment before stating, “You didn’t do anything…any worse than…than the things I did, Spike.” She wondered belatedly what Dawn might think of her words, considering how very many things about the past painful year she had not revealed to her sister, and glanced anxiously in Dawn’s direction.

 

But Dawn had left, presumably going back upstairs to her room, to leave them in privacy for what was clearly a very personal conversation. Buffy smiled in spite of herself at the rare display of maturity and consideration from her sister; but when she turned her eyes back toward the trembling, suffering vampire beside her, her expression sobered again.

 

“Spike…you can’t blame yourself for all of this.”

 

“So much to blame me for,” he disagreed, his shoulders shaking with sobs, his head bowed and turned away in an attempt to hide his face from her, born of his shame. “So much suffering…pain…death…so bloody much, Buffy…and it *is* all my fault! I did it, Buffy! I killed, and destroyed, and…and hurt…hurt you…”

 

“That doesn’t matter anymore, Spike,” Buffy insisted. “It’s all in the past…gone…”

 

Spike’s manic giggle seemed quite inappropriate given the mood that had descended over the room. “Gone,” he echoed incredulously. “Gone…maybe. Not forgotten, though. Not forgotten or forgiven…not ever, love…not ever…”

 

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, willing herself to speak the words he needed so badly to hear, to express the forgiveness she had granted him long ago, even in his absence, even before his hard-earned soul. But as she did, her mind flew back to that night in her bathroom, the terror and shock of what Spike had nearly done to her, the sense of betrayal she had felt; because despite her repeated and emphatic insistence that he did not love her, that she could never trust him…she had.

 

Otherwise, it would not have hurt so badly to have that trust violated.

 

*But how many times did he place his heart, his very self, at your mercy, only to have you violate it yourself?*

 

Her hesitation was all the answer Spike needed, and he slowly, painfully turned onto his side, away from her, his arms folded across his chest, his legs drawn up slightly in an attempt to make himself smaller, less conspicuous.

 

“Sorry,” he murmured, beginning to sound a bit distant again. “Sorry, love…but sorry doesn’t matter, does it?”

 

Buffy did not say anything, just rose from the couch and walked away, sensing that he needed a bit of space at the moment…as did she. She had been so certain that she had forgiven him, and the words should have come easily…but they didn’t. Buffy swiped at a few remaining tears as she made her way into the relative privacy of the kitchen, where she fairly collapsed across the counter, trying hard to silence the sobs that rose in her aching throat.

 

It was all just so confusing…so much.

 

And she had no idea what she was going to do.

 

******************************************

 

Once the sounds of voices from downstairs had faded away completely, Dawn slipped down the stairs again. She had not wanted to interrupt what had clearly been a private moment between her sister and Spike, but she found that it was next to impossible for her to continue hiding upstairs while Spike was lying there injured and miserable on the sofa.

 

After all…at one point, he had been her very best friend.

 

She wondered if they could ever get to that point again.

 

She silently crossed the living room, wondering if he was asleep. His back was turned to her, and he was completely quiet. She stood there for a moment, the coffee table all that separated them, just watching him without saying a word.

 

“B-buffy’s…in the kitchen, Bit.” Spike’s voice startled her, though it was soft and humble, hoarse with tears.

 

Dawn considered for a moment before countering, “I didn’t come down here to talk to Buffy.”

 

For a moment there was no response. Then, Spike slowly, carefully turned back onto his back, wincing at the pain the movement caused him. Dawn fought back the rising sense of sympathy she felt for his suffering as the vampire focused questioning eyes, bright with tears and dull with torment, on her.

 

“What is it, then, pet?” Spike asked in a soft, almost penitent voice. “What…what can I…?”

 

“Why did you do it?”

 

Spike’s eyes darted downward for a moment, and he swallowed hard, struggling with his own emotions, renewed by the harsh question. “I…didn’t go there intending to…I mean…I wasn’t ever gonna…wouldn’t have…”

 

“Except you almost did.” Dawn relentlessly pressed him, knowing only that she needed the answers, if she was ever going to deal with this. “You said you loved her. How could you do that to her? How could you ever even think of hurting her like that and say you love her?”

 

Spike was quiet for a long time, just softly gasping as he visibly struggled to suppress his tears. Dawn had almost given up on Spike’s answering her at all, when he spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

 

“What do you expect me to say, Nibblet?”

 

Dawn blinked in surprise, but said nothing, unsure really what to say, as Spike stared at her through dull, despairing eyes.

 

“Sorry? Hardly cuts it, does it, pet? Hardly enough. Can’t…can’t say anything that makes what I did…that makes it…all right, you know? Can’t ever make it right.”

 

Dawn considered that for a moment in silence, her eyes downcast as she thought about it, and realized that what he said made a sad sort of sense. Finally she looked up at him again, a searching expression in her wide blue eyes as she whispered another question in a voice that was soft and trembling and vulnerable.

 

“Are you?”

 

Spike frowned in confusion, shaking his head, puzzled. “What?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in stunned understanding…before welling with fresh tears, his face crumpling with his resolve to hold back his tears. “Bloody…Bit, I’ve never *been* so sorry…for anything I’ve done, ever!” he sobbed, his voice breaking over the words as his shoulders shook. “Can’t make it right, but I’d do *anything* to take it back, pet…*anything*…”

 

Halfway through his response, Dawn found herself on her knees beside the sofa, without having the faintest idea how she got there, her arms wrapped around the sobbing vampire, her face buried against his bare, bandaged chest as she cried with him. Spike’s arms went around her, his grasp weak from the pain of his injuries, yet desperate, as he clutched her to him.

 

“I’m so sorry, pet…so sorry…please…please…”

 

Dawn cried harder against him, shaking her head as she answered without lifting her eyes to his. “Y-you saved me! They would have killed me, but you saved me. Y-you’re always saving me, Spike. I missed you…s-so much…”

 

The soft sound of a throat clearing behind her drew Dawn’s attention, and she self-consciously straightened, turning around to face Buffy, who was standing beside the coffee table watching them with a carefully controlled expression on her face. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and she averted her eyes as both Spike and Dawn focused on her.

 

“I…um…I need to talk to Spike.” She glanced apologetically up at Dawn. “Alone.”

 

Dawn studied her sister’s face for a long moment, before hesitantly rising to her feet. It was clear that whatever Buffy wanted to talk about was very important, and as much as she felt for Spike, as badly as his actions had hurt her, Dawn knew that this was Buffy’s situation to handle, not her own. She nodded silently and headed up the stairs, giving the Slayer and the vampire their privacy.

 

Buffy just stood there for a moment, feeling suddenly awkward and uncertain as to how to approach him. She knew what she had to do, how to both help him, and show him how she felt at the same time; but now that she was standing in front of him, she wasn’t sure how to go about it.

 

He would never agree to it of his own volition.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly, clearing her throat again as she sat down on the sofa beside him.

 

Spike looked away, swallowing back a sob as he whispered, “Fine, love. You’ve…you’ve done so much. Don’t…don’t rightly deserve it, you…you helpin’ me. After…don’t deserve it, ‘s all.”

 

Buffy could not exactly refute his words, though she didn’t quite believe them, either. “You’re not fine,” she argued gently. “Spike…you need blood.”

 

Spike shrugged weakly, though his body was trembling with fatigue and hunger. “Can wait.”

 

“No.” Buffy shook her head. “You really can’t.”

 

Spike looked up at her again, his attention caught by the strange tone of her voice. His eyes widened when he saw the gleaming blade in her hand, before locking onto hers in a silent question. He swallowed hard, nodding slowly in perceived understanding.

 

“Right, then. Do what you like, love. I…I want you to. Whatever you need to do to…to deal with this. I just hope that…hope that maybe, you might be able to…to…” Spike’s voice trailed off, as he found that he could not even dare to speak the word he longed to hear so badly.

 

*Forgive*.

 

He turned his head away again, closing his eyes, his body taut and rigid with apprehension, and Buffy realized with horror for what he was preparing himself.

 

The pain.

 

“Spike…no! Spike….God, *no*!” She shook her head, aghast, as she set the knife down on the coffee table. “I would *never*…I mean…Spike…I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Spike gave her a bleak look of surprised confusion, glancing between her face and the knife on the table. “Should,” he whispered, hesitating a moment, tears streaking his face as he closed his eyes and added, “Might make us both feel better.”

 

Buffy watched him closely for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was slow and cautious.

 

“I think…I’ve got something that might make *you* feel better.”

 

Buffy’s eyes never left Spike’s face, still turned away from her, as she took the knife in her hand again. After a moment, the scent reached him, and Spike looked up at her sharply, his eyes wide with shock as he stared between Buffy’s eyes, and the straight, bleeding line on her arm.

 

“Buffy,” he gasped, shaking his head in refusal. “Buffy, love…*no*!”

 

She ignored his protest, leaning in closer, holding her arm closer to his mouth. “Spike, you need to. It’ll make you well. Take it.”

 

The powerful scent of Slayer’s blood was nearly overwhelming, but Spike still turned his head away, pressing harder against the couch in an attempt to escape the rising temptation to accept her offer.

 

“No,” he whimpered, tears streaming from his eyes again. “No, Buffy…I can’t…shouldn’t…don’t deserve it.”

 

“Stop it,” Buffy snapped, her own voice trembling dangerously, and Spike looked up at her to see twin tracks streaking her face as well. “Just…stop saying that! I’m the one you hurt, Spike. I’ll say whether or not you deserve it.”

 

Spike flinched as if he had been struck, unable to deny the impact of her words.

 

“I want you to take it, Spike. I want you to drink from me,” Buffy insisted, her voice gentling as she reached out her free hand to trail gently down his cheek, her thumb rubbing lightly across his trembling lips. “I never…” She faltered, swallowing back a sob, before trying again. “I never gave you…anything, Spike. And…and all you wanted…” She shook her head, unable to finish that painful thought. “Just…just please. Take it. I want you to.”

 

Spike hesitated, his wide, vulnerable blue eyes searching her expression as she brought her arm closer, closing the distance  between the bleeding wound and Spike’s waiting, parted lips.

 

The first taste of her blood drew a desperate moan from his throat, as the sheer power of it overwhelmed him, flooding his senses. He could feel the pulse pounding through her as the warm fluid filled his mouth, and instinctively he drew from the wound, pulling more of it past his lips and down his throat. As he did so, however, he felt her pulse quickening, tasted the faintest tinge of fear in the flavor of her blood.

 

“Knew you’d do it. Knew you’d hurt her again, in time. Monster.”

 

Spike’s eyes flew open at the sound of the voice – his own voice – and he saw his own smirking form leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he observed the scene. He was not unfamiliar with the strange sight, but now, it drove him into a panic, as he abruptly pushed Buffy’s arm away from him.

 

“No,” he whimpered. “No, can’t do it…won’t hurt you, Buffy! Please!”

 

“Spike…you’re not hurting me…”

 

“Scared you,” he insisted, troubled, anguished eyes meeting hers. “Know I did. Could…could taste it.”

 

Buffy’s nose wrinkled slightly at those surprising words. “You could…could *taste*…?”

 

Spike nodded. “Taste a lot of things in blood, love. Power…fear…anger…”

 

“Did you taste any anger in my blood?”

 

Spike did not answer, just stared up at her, a trapped expression on his face.

 

“Here,” Buffy prompted him gently, shifting herself in closer to him, placing one hand on the back of his head and helping him to rise up toward the wound on her arm. “Maybe you’d better…have another taste.”

 

“No,” Spike protested, shaking his head wildly and trying to pull away, but the Slayer’s strength held firm, holding his head in place. “Please…” His eyes darted to the side, focusing on something near the doorway, something Buffy could not see.

 

“Spike.” Buffy’s voice held a stern, emphatic note. “Look at *me*. Focus on *me*, okay?”

 

Reluctantly Spike obeyed, and the apprehension in his eyes told Buffy what he expected to see there.

 

Fear.

 

Revulsion.

 

Hatred.

 

“Don’t you see it in her eyes, mate? She’s terrified of you. Can’t look at you without remembering what you did to her.”

 

“I *want* you to do this,” Buffy stated softly, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “I do.” She paused, adding, “There’s nobody here but me, and you, so just look at me and listen to what I’m telling you.” As she spoke, she turned his head gently toward her, softly forcing him to face her. “This is what I *want* you to do. Some things…some things are hard to say, but…but maybe I can show you…”

 

Spike stared at the wound as it came closer to his mouth, his eyes large and round and fearful, as if it might somehow cause him physical harm.

 

“Drink,” Buffy pressed him, her voice barely over a whisper. “For me, Spike. Please.”

 

“Do it, Spike.”

 

Spike pulled away from her gently guiding hand at his cheek, turning startled eyes on the source of the unfamiliar voice, this time much closer than before. His eyes widened when he saw Warren, the boy who had built his robot, crouched beside them, his leering face inches from Spike’s own.

 

“Do it, Spike. Take her. You know you want to.” Warren giggled with wicked glee as he looked Buffy up and down and added, “God, who wouldn’t? You almost did it once; do it again, Spike…”

 

“Stop it,” Spike ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Just…just stop…please…”

 

Misunderstanding, Buffy firmly turned his face back toward her. “Spike. I won’t stop. You have to do this, or you’re not going to heal. Drink. Now.”

 

“But…” Spike glanced anxiously at the spot where Warren had been, though it was empty now. “Buffy, I can’t…I can’t…”

 

“Look at me,” Buffy instructed gently but firmly. “Spike…look into my eyes. See that I mean this. I *want* you to do this, Spike. *Please*.”

 

Spike glanced away again, but Buffy’s hand on his cheek blocked his view, leading his gaze relentlessly back to her own. Her voice was a hushed, intense whisper as she repeated, “Please.”

 

As she spoke, she pressed the wound to his lips once more. Instinct took over, and Spike gently sucked at the wound, his eyes closing and his head falling back slightly as the powerful taste overcame the rest of his senses.

 

“Don’t…stop…don’t stop looking at me,” Buffy gasped, her voice breathless and uneven, her chest heaving slightly as she fought to control the feelings, the emotions, that his mouth on her flesh brought back to her.

 

Spike’s eyes flew open again and he stared up at her, their eyes locked as he drew the precious life that she offered him from her very body. His eyes welled with tears, but he did not look away, as myriad emotions washed through him with her healing blood – and not any of the emotions he had expected to taste there, either.

 

Compassion.

 

Tenderness.

 

*Forgiveness*.

 

He might have pulled away, believing that he did not deserve those things from her; but something about her intense, wide-eyed gaze held him, refusing to allow him to pull away, to look away – holding him in the connection they were sharing. His tears flowed faster, tears of wonder, relief…love…and his shoulders shook with sobs even as he accepted the sweet gift she offered him.

 

His vision was too blurred to see her tears, but he felt the wet heat of them as they dropped onto his bare skin. Her hand on his face was trembling, before it rose to run through his hair, pulling slightly as she gasped at the mixture of pleasure and pain she felt at the intimate contact between them.

 

When he felt her collapse slightly against him, felt her trembling increase, Spike knew that he had taken more than enough from her. The last thing he wanted was to risk causing her any harm. He drew back slowly, reluctantly, laving the wound shut and savoring the last taste in his mouth, the flavor of the mercy and tenderness she had extended to him.

 

The taste of absolution…and the desire for it.

 

Stunned, Spike stared up at Buffy, blinking his tears away and shaking his head in disbelief. “Buffy…”

 

“Forgive me, Spike,” she whispered, her voice trembling and pleading. “Please…I’m so sorry…”

 

“Nothing to forgive, pet,” Spike insisted, his voice stronger than it had been, but still shaking dangerously. “You haven’t…I mean…”

 

“I hurt you, Spike,” Buffy declared. “I…I hurt you, and you hurt me, and…and it’s all past now and doesn’t seem very important in the light of…of what you’ve done. Of what you’ve…been through…”

 

“It matters, Buffy,” Spike whispered, choking back a sob. “It does matter.”

 

“It always will, Spike,” Buffy agreed, nodding as her fingers returned to trace his mouth, wiping a smudge of her blood from his lips. “But…but it’s over now. I just want it to…to be over, you know? I want us to…to move on.”

 

Spike nodded, his heart aching with his own desire for that very thing. “I love you, Buffy. I know…what I did…but…but I do. I always did.”

 

Buffy smiled tenderly at him, struggling with words that she was not sure she felt.

 

But she was no longer sure that she didn’t feel them, either – and that was something.

 

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened at the unexpected validation, a validation of his feelings for her that she had never allowed him before. “Buffy…”

 

She silenced his soft, awed voice, her lips descending over his in a slow, thorough kiss. For a few moments Spike returned the kiss, his mouth seeking, earnest and longing, before he pulled back hesitantly, meeting her eyes in an uncertain question.

 

“Buffy…what…what is this?”

 

“Starting over?” Buffy suggested, her voice equally uncertain, her eyes vulnerable and questioning. “Will you…will you start over with me, Spike? Give us…another chance?”

 

Spike stared up at her for a long moment, scarcely daring to believe that she truly meant it…before his lips turned upward into a grateful smile of elation. He answered her not a word, let his actions be his response, as his hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her down to him, into a second tender, lingering kiss.

 


End file.
